Climbing From Concrete
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: It was wrong, how he thought to touch her, wanted to touch her, very nearly needed to touch her. EO


_Many thanks to the lovely Miss Andromache for the beta and kind words.

* * *

_ "She's upstairs, sleeping prolly," Munch mentioned, lethargy in his stride. Lifting his eyes to the other man, Elliot blinked SVU back the surprise that threatened to etch itself upon his face. His question as to Olivia's whereabouts came quickly, had slipped off his tongue with practiced ease. "Don't wake her up, she looks like hell."

He nodded and lifted a hand to wave a casual goodbye, but Munch had his back to him-- making his way into the hall. A sigh escaped him, his frame seeming to deflate with the force of it. Elliot wasn't sure his body would carry him up the flight of stairs, but he figured he'd try anyway.

It took him longer than usual, dragging his lean frame up the stairs. Sleep was heavy on his mind, thick and sluggish, threatening to drag him back down the stairs. Thin bands of gray filtered into his vision; going home wouldn't be an option that evening. As much as he hated it, as much as his back would protest against it, he'd be sleeping at the precinct that evening, curling up on a thin cot that looked, smelled and felt like it had been purchased in the mid-seventies.

The fact that Olivia was already supposedly up there only made the prospect of sleeping on the premises vaguely more appealing. Truth be told, he couldn't really remember a time in his life when he'd been so tired. Not even back in the Corp; back then, there was always something to keep himself on edge, clear and ready and alert. Now, the only thing he had to look forward to was being caught up in the world of another criminal, another waste of life, another one in a long line of lives, snuffed out.

Making it to his destination, he pressed the door open, just slightly, so the light wouldn't leak into the room and disturb the occupants. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the dusty light and Elliot took in the people in the room. Expecting to find a few, he was stunned to find just one, his partner, curled up on a cot in the corner, the scratchy department issue blanket pulled up to her chin.

The chill in the room crept up his spine as the door snicked shut behind him. January in the city was worse than January in the country. The buildings caught the wind and tossed it back and worth, working it into a violent lather that shook the buildings with it's force; it would creep in between the bricks, slip under the wood, through the cracks to taunt the people inside and make them beg for any sign of spring. That's what it was doing then, shaking the precinct building and making Elliot beg for April. Half of him believed it was because the temperature, that he couldn't stand the cold. The other half of him knew why he really wished for the season to change-she smiled more.

Elliot shuffled a bit further into the room and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks. Eyes falling to the concrete gray of the floor, he considered whether she would be angered to know that he was allowing himself to indulge in the casual act of watching her. It was far too easy to hide within the vague notion that after such a long stretch of time they had simply become so aquainted as co-workers, as partners. It would be too easy to pass it off as a casual happenstance, an accident of emotion.

None of that would do it justice; none of that would make him happy and content in how he felt about her, in just how deeply.

So he watched, and waited. For anything.

Before he knew it, his body was leading him to the bed beside her, settling his weary bones down onto the semi-bed with a groan. The springs creaked beneath him and she shifted in her sleep, the blanket slipping down off of her shoulder, her fingers coiling around the edge.

There really wasn't anything beautiful about her, none of the lone, sleek lines that could be found on any beautiful woman. But she was pretty, and prepossessing, and molded out of some sort of sleek and misleading steel. Brilliant, she was that too and his hand itched for a moment to touch her, just to feel.

It was wrong, how he thought to touch her, wanted to touch her, very nearly needed to touch her.

Elliot sucked in a deep sigh, filling his lungs with cool air. He held it deep, like a satisfying drag off of a cigarette and leaned back fully on the bed, eliciting a long, screeching creak that he regretted immediately. Olivia shifted and sighed and Elliot held his breath again, hoping she would remain asleep.

He had no such luck and though he needed to tear his eyes away, he couldn't help but gaze at the flutter of her lids as she passed from slumber into waking. In that instant, in that simple awakening, his heart began hammering hard in his chest, speeding his breath up and seemingly spinning his head.

In that instant, he knew why he felt so, so wrong.

He realized he couldn't fall for her; he'd already fallen... and he was looking from the bottom-way down deep-up at the world, up at her.

"Hey," she rasped in a sleep-slickened voice. Her body rolled to the side as she attempted to roll herself out of bed. He shook his head and motioned with her hand to lay back down. "Can't make it home?"

Elliot shook his head slowly and fought a smile. "Too fuckin' tired, haven't slept in days."

She smiled, allowing her eyes to slip closed once more, "Nightmares again?"

"You make me sound like such a sissy," came his slur of an answer, but the smile could be heard in his voice, the teasing jab.

Olivia chuckled and pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders. "S'cuz you are." Putting him in his place, as she always was and it tickled in in a way that he couldn't define. "How long you been in here."

"Not long," his eyes too slipped shut and they both lay in silence for a few moments. "I was just watching you sleep," his voice said before his brain could catch up; the moment the statement left his mouth his jaw set hard and inwardly he cursed himself. Wrong move, too strong, too intense a statement to be written off as the mumblings of a sleep-deprived man.

With his eyes closed, he became much more aware of her heavy breathing and of the way it stuttered when he'd allow his lips to slip. "Okay," she breathed out slowly; the way she said it, the heat in her voice made his eyes slide open. He found her staring at him through eyes that could only be categorized as being adequate for the bedroom. Elliot swallowed and clenched his jaw again. "You really need to sleep," she followed with, and slid down in the bed on her back.

And just like that, he was acknowledged. Everything he'd thought about, wanted, needed, was acknowledge in the slide of her body, in the tone of her voice.

Elliot pulled the scratchy blanket over his body and laid back to stare at the ceiling, the cracks, the strange stains. And he listened to her breathe, waited for it to even out before he glanced at her again. The perfection of the moment, in rickety beds with the wind screaming outside and the sound of their coworkers on the floor below, shook him and he allowed his eyes to close for the final time that evening.

They weren't sleeping together, but it was close enough.


End file.
